The Winter Harvest
by TheTeaMustFlow
Summary: When a Suul'ka weapon throws it and it's Morrigi attackers into the Mass Effect universe, the galaxy will find out that there are deadlier enemies than mere Reapers...
1. Chapter 1: Repensum Est Canicula

**The Winter Harvest**

**Chapter 1: Repensum Est Canicula**

There is one immutable law that pervades every skirmish, war and battlefield, whether fought with tooth and claw or gun and laser, whether it rages in dank caves or glistening cities, and that is that someone will blunder.

Here, in the depths of space, around a long-dead world, in (by the measurement of a certain species of apelike mammals) the Year of Our Lord 2645, the Suul'ka had finally blundered.

It was _supposed_ to have been a tiny recolonisation effort, the Morrigi pathetically trying to rebuild their lost glory. It was _supposed_ to have been, by the standards of the Second Winter War, defenceless – easy prey for the massive horde of Zuul. But there was no colony, yet, though massive Empire-class habitat ships betrayed the birds' future intentions, for all the good it did. And they were far from defenceless. A ridiculously huge fleet of Crows had been waiting in deep space, and as the Suul'ka's fleet had fully committed to taking on the unexpectedly tough Empires, it had torn into the rearguard, arriving almost instantly thanks to that curious quirk of the Morrigi Void Cutter drive that meant the more damnable avians there were, the faster they went. The Suul'ka and his fleet were being enveloped by a Murder of Crows. The Deceiver of Fools had been deceived. The irony was not lost on the Suul'ka. But no matter how many ships the Morrigi brought to bear, he was not done yet.

"_Solution Plotted. Opening Fire."_ Xhar'Dai the Blessed smiled as the AI of the _Executioner's Mercy_ guided the Rail Cannon Rounds precisely into the Mission section of the Zuul C&C Dreadnought, smashing it in two. As the last enemy scanner ship in range disintegrated, he deployed his final ace. He was as close to elation as he had ever been in one hundred years of war as cloaked cruisers struck at the Zuul from below, their projectors and antimatter cannons sending hails of purplish death into the disgusting marsupials underbellies. The scum fell in the dozens, unable to respond to their invisible attackers, pounded by the massive guns of the Morrigi Leviathans. With the presence of Xhar'Dai's Gravboats, which, using the effects of the Void Cutter drives, slowed down enemy vessels while speeding up the Morrigi, they had no chance to escape. Everything was going to plan.

Which is a really, _really_ bad thing to say, or to think. It's just asking for trouble.

The Deceiver of Fools watched dispassionately as his fleet was cut to ribbons. All he had needed was a couple more minutes, and for the Morrigi to come just a little closer, which the Crow commander had obligingly done. It didn't matter that half his armada was ashes on the solar winds. It didn't matter that in thirty seconds, he would personally be in range of the Crow battle line. Because in five, it would all be over. He would see if the oh-so-superior Morrigi technology could find him where he was going.

Alerts suddenly blared on the Bridge of the _Executioner's Mercy_. The Suul'ka had suddenly disappeared in a sphere of a colour that was darker than the void – a darkness that was expanding outwards, ever out wards. Memories flashed into Xhar'Dai's mind – memories of a Suul'ka station, another darkness, the _same thing. _He had witnessed the Deceiver's shipyard do this when all else failed, had witnessed what it had done before that, and knew that it was the only chance of survival for him and the fleet. Faster than humanly possible, he smashed an inexplicable override command into his console and activated his comm unit, shouting desperately:

"All ships, lock navigation to my signal and keep to it no matter what! This may be an unpleasant expe-"

And in one place, that was it. Neither the Deceiver of fools, nor their Morrigi assailants were ever seen again. The 2nd Vengeance Fleet of the Silver Throne, under the command of Xhar'Dai the Blessed, was recorded as lost in the line of duty. The three remaining Suul'ka crossed another name off their `to kill` lists. Eventually, the incident became nothing more than a historical footnote. In one place.

But in another…

* * *

><p>It was stupid. It was ridiculous. It was, unfortunately, entirely to be expected.<p>

In short, it was politics.

Fleet Marshal Vorin Garek groaned. Not that he was at all disloyal to the Hierarchy, not in the slightest, but whichever of the High Commanders thought that _he_ was the best choice for this mission deserved, in his humble opinion, to be fed piece-by-piece to a Thresher Maw. He was a soldier, not a diplomat. But since he was the ranking official on the Terminus border, he'd got landed with it, and he hardly had a clue what to do with it.

On paper, the Systems Alliance represented all of humanity off of Earth. In reality, it only covered about two-thirds, the rest being the small independent colonies in the Terminus Systems. But none of these had been of any political significance – too small and fragmented to have any reach across the void. That had been until about ten years ago, when Paradigm, New Constantinople and Kerensky, three of the more developed and peaceful colonies, had formed the Paradigm Protectorate Commonwealth. They had prospered and become exponentially more powerful, their appreciable military presence warding off the ubiquitous Terminus Pirates. There were five of them now, Rick's World and the tiny Drell colony on Sirocco having joined later. Now, they mattered. On the scale of the Citadel, Flotilla and Hegemony they were still nothing, but after their first dreadnought, the _Kusanagi_, had made her maiden voyage (after a discreet refitting following purchase from the Ilium shipyard), they were all but unique in the Terminus, and the Council had finally had to pay attention to them personally. They hadn't got on well. The PPC refused to accept Council authority, or respect the Citadel conventions. They considered themselves outside of the Council's jurisdiction. And they particularly disliked the Hierarchy, not approving of the Turian's organised society, or the fact that the Hierarchy did not subscribe to the mob rule they called `democracy`. Yet they didn't even have the decency to close themselves and their idiocy off, like the Batarians, instead insisting on their ships right to hawk their wares in Council Space, while undercutting Citadel tariffs to attract trade away from the great nations. They were a parasite, money-grabbing thieves to put the Volus to shame. But what made it _worse_ was that people were starting to agree with them. The Council had not, in fact, wasted resources on protecting `self-sufficient` colonies, or preparing for a Geth attack lead by an insane Spectre. This was, apparently, a good reason to abandon the cause of Galactic Unity entirely. Idiocy!

And the Hierarchy fleet under Garek's command couldn't even squash the mewling PPC like the bug it was. That would make them martyrs to Citadel `oppression`. So Garek had to play `diplomatic`.

Even when the bastards held STG operatives hostage. _Everyone_ who was anyone knew the Special Tasks Group had agents everywhere. It was one of those basic facts of life: Birds flew, fish swam and Salarians spied on everyone else, and each other. The only time anyone who was anyone didn't know that was when they could get political leverage out of it. When they weren't dealing with vote-yourself-rich systems, Hierarchy High Command had a tendency to forget that anyone who was anyone excluded most of the people in the galaxy. Random unimportant citizens, not knowing the basic facts of interstellar politics, often were _shocked_ by the thought of spies in their midst. Accordingly, when some idiot thought of giving such ignorant people power, they tended to vote for people who apparently objected to that.

So it must have seemed like divine intervention when a few Paradigm cops smashed open a door to a lowlife hideout and found that the `terrorist cell` had a much more interesting agenda. Spying was a capital crime on all the PPC member planets. But Garek, for all his thousands of soldiers, had few cards to play. They couldn't take military action. Economic action was _way_ above his pay-grade, and would still make the Citadel look bad. They had no _actual_ legal ground to object – the STG agents had committed a crime in PPC jurisdiction, been found guilty, and sentenced normally. All Garek could really do was appeal to international relations (which were already awful, as far as the Hierarchy and Union were concerned) and the goodness of their hearts. Not exactly the best way to convince a politician.

The intercom icon on the screen in front of him lit up. _"Marshal, their Prime Minister is on the line again. Shall I patch him through?"_

Sighing inwardly, Garek gave his weary reply. "Suppose we may as well, for all the good it'll do." Of all the threats and problems he faced, he dreaded none so much as politicians.

* * *

><p>Xhar'Dai <em>knew<em> the readings in front of him couldn't be true. It was impossible. Whatever the Suul'ka had done, it could not have moved the _galaxy_. But the eyes of machines did not lie, and neither did the technicians who swore they were in working order. And they said that, after the Silver Throne fleet, confused and psychically screwed-up, had crawled out of Subspace, the stars and planets of what humans called the Milky Way were not quite the same as before. As the confused AI corrected for the strange effect, Xhar'Dai collected his thoughts.

He had met this weapon before, back in the First Winter War. A deep-space shipyard built to construct a terrible technology, a Suul'ka serving Von Neumann AI race, had disappeared in much the same way, taking half a Liir battle fleet with it. The after-action reports concluded it was something similar to a Node Cannon, Zuul weapons that sent their targets into subspace, which would doom any ship that did not carry a node drive. Xhar'Dai now repented of his opposition to using Node _and_ Void Cutter drives on all ships – The 2nd Vengeance Fleets souls would now be Spectre food otherwise. But that didn't answer the question – Node Cannons could send you into a parallel universe, but they couldn't change this one.

Wait…

A parallel universe…

Suddenly dreading a possibility that, for all intents and purposes, should be impossible, Xhar'Dai brought up his C&C console.

"I want the _All-Seeing Eye_ to perform a complete long-range scan on everything, and I mean everything – every single _zorn_ variable. Don't ask why, you dumb lizard, just do it!" A tired and incongruously sounding voice belonging to a female Tarka responded simply, _"As you command, _Daiko_."_

He hoped his suspicions wouldn't prove right. But a part of him somehow _knew_ that it was time for the 2nd Vengeance Fleet, of the Silver Throne Federation, to learn the lesson humanity had learned two hundred years ago: _Repensum Est Canicula_.

* * *

><p>First Captain Sophia Coral, commander of the <em>Kusanagi<em>, was not best pleased with the situation. This was an unfortunate state of affairs, because it often resulted in people who were unlucky enough to not be Coral get hit with blunt objects. When asked, repeatedly, about why their highest ranking field officer was approximately three inches from the asylum (normally asked after yet _another_ broken nose and lawsuit), all they could point to was the wreckage of countless ships, few of which bore the PPC Moon-and-Spear.

The current reasons for her annoyance was the fact that she and her ship (not to mention the rest of the fleet, and several satellites carrying nuclear surprises) were having to sit on alert, pointing their various weapons at a mass relay in case Turians appeared next to it and started making a fuss, as Council lackeys were often wont to do. This annoyed her because it meant that the crew, particularly those of the captainly persuasion, had to stay awake for a long time. She had spent most of her life on Kerensky, which had a nineteen-hour day. Thus far, the crew reckoned, the threat of blunt objects becoming airborne was only being _just_ staved off by altogether too much coffee.

She was _further_ annoyed because it looked more and more likely that they might _actually_ end up fighting the Hierarchy fleet, which by Corals measurement was the highest form of idiocy. The Turians only just outclassed them in sheer tonnage, but the most powerful military in space outfitted its soldiers well, far better than a small band of colonies. The PPC had the home advantage, but any fight would be very bloody – probably the worst battle since the Geth attack on the Citadel two years ago. And neither side could win anything more than a pyrrhic victory in the best of cases.

But what _really_, _really_ was annoying her _right now_ was that the comm alert was beeping. This presumably meant that one of the goddamn politicians, in between angering the other goddamn politicians, had somehow contrived to get her, a field officer, not even an admiral, into their goddamn debate. The universe was fucking with her and someone, most likely a hapless subordinate, was going to pay for it.

Lieutenant-Commander Vaneh Zirol was not going to be that subordinate. The Drell stalked over to his desk, safely outside the range of a thrown coffee cup, and quietly listened to the Prime Minister's conversation with the Hierarchy Marshal. No-one aboard the _Kusanagi_ had noticed (or more likely, had not cared) that the ex-Assassin had hacked the communication system and knew what the admirals had said almost before they had even said it. But he was an _intelligence_ officer for a reason. However, as the conversation entered his ears, said intelligence reached several conclusions.

The first was that he really, _really_ was not getting paid enough for this.

The second was "Oh, _Shit_".

* * *

><p>Picking up the pieces after major battle was always unpleasant, and it was even worse when the battle ended with being blasted through dimensions. The <em>Invisible Death<em> had been protected from the worst of the damage by living up to its name, but _something_ had warped and torn into the left flank of the ship when the Suul'ka had used the Node Weapon (or whatever it had been), and Kala Orr, the ships Gunner _Qu'ann_, did not particularly want to know what it was, only that it had taken seven of the cruisers hundred crew with it. Luckily, they had been able to seal the lost section off, despite being in the wrong dimension, or the entire ship would have been lost, like altogether too many of the Morrigi Armada. But still, seven men – four of them hers.

It had been, literally, indescribable. Trying to explain `normal` subspace travel in languages meant to say `you throw the spear at the lion, and I'll hit the Gazelle with this stick` was hard enough, but what had just happened… It would be like trying to explain abstract art to a creature that not only had no eyes, but had no concept of vision. Kala decided to stick to the response the Tarka had used when the rules of the universe, as they often seemed to, didn't seem to apply – shut up, stop thinking about it, and do the task in front of you. Said task being repairing the damage done by the Suul'ka did not, however, make that easier.

"… Scanner! I _said _pass me the _Mek_-fucked scanner, _Var'Kona_!"

Kala jolted back from her thoughts with a start. One of the problems of signing on with the strictly egalitarian Morrigi, even the somewhat more structured Silver Throne, was that you got people of refinement and culture, like Kala, stuck together with idiots like Thalt Bente, the _Invisible Death_'s Technical _Qu'ann_ (and now, she realised, she was using the Morrigi word for leader. Standards were slipping everywhere). It wasn't that she objected to a common (or even a male) Tarka outranking her. She objected to the fact that the fool would not shut up about it.

"All right, dumbass, all right!" She bit back in English – it was the common language in Throne space, and she was more comfortable with it than the Gutter dialect of Tarkasian Thalt spoke. "Just giving a little thought for my lost troops, not that you would know what _that's_ like, cowering in the-"

"_All crews, your attention."_

Both Tarka turned to the communication screen on the wall, argument forgotten. An _all_ _crews_ meant that this came right from the top – and the Fleet _Qu'ann_, Xhar'Dai the Blessed, rarely needed to address every person on all of his five hundred ships personally.

"_Loyal soldiers and colonists of the Silver Throne Federation, you have been through far too much already. You have been, quite literally, through hell. It is an evil fate we have been given that I must now add greatly to this burden."_

It was all Xhar'Dai could do when he looked at the faces on the screen in front of him – almost a billion of them, Morrigi, Human, Tarka, all of them waiting for him to tell them how they were going to get home. None of them ready for what he was about to tell them.

"_We assumed that the weapon the Deceiver used was merely a form of Node Cannon. That it merely threw us into Subspace. I am afraid the truth is far worse. The Milky Way we have arrived in is not the same Milky Way we left. My Friends, this is not our reality. We are in a world where we should not exist. Where the Silver Throne, and for that matter, almost everything we love and cherish never was._

_It is not, however empty. Here too, the light of civilisation shines in the stars. Here too, sentients have carved out empires across the void. And not all of these species are unfamiliar. A species of apelike mammals, in by their reckoning the Year of Our Lord 2152, have just begun to take their first steps into the void. In this universe, thankfully, their first colony ship wasn't destroyed by bugs. Yes, My Friends, though this place has only now been graced by Morrigi or Tarkas, Humanity exists here._

_Unfortunately, it is clear that we are not the only ones thrown here from our reality. We must assume, men, that the Deceiver and his pets are here also. Thus, it seems, our duty is clear. We cannot allow the Suul'ka, having been defeated in our world, to triumph here. He must be stopped, finally. And we will stop him._

_Our course will be difficult. Many of us will fall against the enemy. If any of you objects to this, say it now."_ Not one whisper came from the shocked but suddenly hardened faces of his men.

"_Very well. We will proceed as the empires of space always have. It is a stroke of luck, perhaps, that the colony vessels are here. Each of the seven Empires will head for a different world, accompanied by one seventh of the fleet. We will explore, we will expand. When the time is right, we will make contact with the other races and, we hope, recruit their aid against the enemy. And when we find the Suul'ka and his minions, we will exterminate them._

_Full briefings have been sent to each ship. That is all, soldiers. Thank you."_

* * *

><p>"<em>All Paradigm Military Vessels prepare for imminent attack by unidentified forces, approaching on vector 79204. Reinforcements will be arriving from outside normal routes. Do not fire on any vessel using the following IFF signature. This is _not_ a drill. Fleet Command Out."_

At this point, Zirol was not only sure he was not getting paid enough, but was working out precisely the raise he would demand after this operation. Assuming there was an after this operation.

Just before the speakers had blared, he had been the only person on the _Kusanagi_ to have an inkling of what was happening. On his hacked feed, he heard the alarms go off in the Prime Minister's office and a last snippet of conversation between the PM and an aide: _"What do you mean, faster than expected?"_ The feed had been terminated then, but not without giving Zirol enough information to know that shit was about to get real. The Captain evidently agreed with him, currently focusing her copious anger towards Fleet Command.

"You _know_ there is an enemy coming. You _know_ that it is, in fact, _an enemy_, not some teenager joyriding the _Destiny Ascension_. You even know where the coming from, so would you kindly tell me _what the fuck they are!"_

"_I believe I may be able to answer that question_ _somewhat better_ _than your admirals, Captain."_ A new voice had cut into the broadcast. _"I am Ogodei Onewing, Zo'Qu'ann… That is to say, Commander of your reinforcements, courtesy of the Silver Federation. Don't ask me questions now, Miss Coral; we have more important things to attend to."_

Someone had called her `Miss Coral` and no one had been hit yet. This was bad.

"_The enemy are called the Zuul. They are a ruthless and disgusting species, but not without cunning. They will be using primarily short-ranged energy weapons and boarding pods, so do not let them close with you. You can beat them at a distance, as their ships will not be using kinetic barriers – but if even one gets on a ship, even the _Kusanagi_, that ship is lost. And above all, do not let them get to your planet. My force will reach you in twenty minutes._

_I have been informed that you are good at what you do, soldiers of the Paradigm. Prove that today. War is coming to space, and you will be needed._

_Good luck, soldiers. May Our Lord watch over you."_

* * *

><p>Solforce Diplomatic Corps<p>

Dossier: The Silver Throne Federation

The Silver Throne Federation has become, by the 27th Century AD, the most influential Morrigi faction in known space. Originally a traditional _Morru'igi_, just before the First Winter War they began to adopt a more martial and structured society, forming official military and representative bodies. And bringing many independent colonies and small nations under their control. Compared to Solforce and the Tarka and Hiver Empires, however, they remained a very uncoordinated society. Their patronage of small factions brought them into conflict with the great nations, notably in the Frontier Rebellions in 2487…

…During the First Winter War they, like the other Morrigi nations, were among the first to fully commit to fighting Suul'ka forces unilaterally. However Silver Throne losses remained comparatively low thanks to their preference for long-range combat and the advantages of the Void Cutter drive. Their territory was also far from the main front, and they acted as a major supply line to the Allied war effort. After the `End of Flesh` Crisis that led to the end of the First Winter War and the fall of Muur, they, like Solforce, remained one of the few powers to be capable of waging war against the AI forces during the Via Damasco War…

…Nowadays the Silver Throne and its affiliated nations dominate the galactic north. They retain diplomatic relations with all of the civilised species save the Liir, and in light of renewed Suul'ka offensives against Morrigi and Hiver territory, have been pushing for the resurrection of the Free Races Alliance…

Author Note: So this is first Sword of the Stars/Mass Effect Crossover. We haven't got a regular SOTS fic yet, meaning there's a crossover before the normal thing. I reckon that's a first.


	2. Chapter 2: Winter Is Coming

**Chapter 2: Winter is Coming**

As thirteen strange little contacts burst into life on his sensor screen, the raise Zirol would be demanding (assuming his survival) tripled. The readings were _weird_, like nothing he, and probably anyone else in the known galaxy had seen. They made Geth ships, Prothean derelicts, even the data from Sovereign, Saren's mysterious flagship, look positively humdrum. None of the ships showed up on an eezo scan – which meant no kinetic barriers, no mass accelerators, no conventional FTL drives. None of the weapons and technology which had defined the galaxy for millennia. In short, nothing they had ever faced before.

But the other readings – _Amonkira_, the other readings! They were the kind of things one normally only saw through broken sensors or when very intoxicated. Mass Effect drives, while strange, were generally polite enough to _obey the bloody rules of physics_. Whatever these `Zuul` were using, it seemed to make Pi equal something like thirty-seven trillion, or possibly cupcake. It was ridiculous, but it actually seemed as if one of them – probably the cruiser with the giant claw thing – had ripped a whole in reality.

Beyond one ominous word – _Zuul_ – and a couple of sentences from an equally mysterious voice, they knew nothing about these strange, logic-defying ships. But as yet another mysterious voice broke into the now-chaotic PPC comm channels, Ogodei Onewing seemed to be vindicated.

"_Make peace with whatever false gods you worship, apes, for your time in the sun has passed. For a million years, our forces have controlled this galaxy, though none knew it until too late. Now, our masters have finally graced this place with their presence, and all will kneel before them. Your pathetic little alliance will be privileged to be the first to bear witness to their glory._

_You have allied with the Morrigi, our ancient enemies. You think that the Crows can protect you from the inevitable. You are wrong. We are infallible, and we cannot be stopped._

_You will learn to bow to your betters, or die. The charred husk of Paradigm will be a monument to your foolishness._

_We are the Zuul, the bloody claws of the Great Masters! We were born to destroy their enemies, and they shall cower as we fulfil our duty! We are legion, and we will darken every sky of every world!_

_You cannot stop us! AS IT WAS COMMANDED, SO SHALL IT BE! BORN OF FIRE! BORN OF STEEL! BORN OF SCIENCE! BORN! OF! BLOOD!"_

Far across the void, Ogodei Onewing shook his head sadly. Three galactic wars, and they still only had one speech. "Zuul idiots. All mouth, no armour."

"Amazing. Someone outranking me I agree with!" First Captain Sophia Coral answered, suddenly filled with, to Zirol's increasingly unnerved mind, a disingenuous amount of optimism for facing the prospect of imminent death by Zuul. Almost as an afterthought, she added "All guns, big ugly bugger with the comm array – open fire."

"_Fleet Command, confirming order. All ships, keep your distance and target the dreadnought."_

With one dreadnought, four cruisers, and eight destroyers (or things about that size) the Zuul group only slightly outnumbered the PPC forces. It seemed that the enemy carried few long range weapons – except for a few desultory missiles, the Zuul guns remained silent as they approached. The fleet of Paradigm suffered no such weakness – designed for killing pirates and raiders, PPC strategy focused on killing the opposition from afar, where the generally bigger and better Commonwealth ships had the advantage, and boarding wasn't an option. From what Onewing had said, this would be the ideal strategy.

The first salvo, from the cruiser _Concordant_, smashed into the port hull of the Zuul dred. Without kinetic barriers, and at only twenty thousands klicks range, every round hit and hurt. The mass accelerator rounds left great bruises in the armour, but not one round pierced through. Whatever the ship was made of, it was better than anything used by anything seen in the galaxy before, except for one thing.

"_The similarities are just stacking up today, aren't they?"_ Zirol mused. _"Maybe that crazy spectre had a point after all… shame she's a bit dead…"_

The Zuul were closing, fast. Only two of their ships hung back – the Dreadnought, and the weird cruiser with the claw. That son of a bitch was too tough – by now, without barriers, even Sovereign would have fallen against the storm of fire. It barely seemed to react when a shell from the _Kusanagi's_ kilometre-long main gun hit it square in the broadside. One of it's missile pods had gone silent, but that was it.

"_Fleet Command, rescinding order. All ships and stations, maintain distance if possible and fire at will. A-SAT weapons, concentrate fire on the nearest ship. This is a AS1 situation; I repeat, we are at Alert State 1."_

"Shit, shit, _SHIT_!" Alert State 1. That meant a full scale attack on Paradigm. That meant Gun Commander Alex Browning was, reluctantly, called to duty.

Manning a ground based defence platform could be both the safest and the most dangerous job in the battle for a planet. On the one hand, if the enemy ships couldn't get through the fleet defending the planet (and if you were winning the battle, this was generally the case), you were completely safe. But if the enemy got in effective firing range, you could and would be incinerated in a single blast. The firepower of planetary defence guns was immense, which made them very high priority targets. And no kinetic barrier could truly protect a stationary and small target from a starship's guns. But this was a desperate situation, and so that immense firepower was needed.

"_Rounds loaded, heat sinks prepped!"_ his headset informed him, courtesy of Gunnery Sergeant Christopher bloody Martin. _"We're waiting on ya, boss!"_

"One moment." Every round fired from the massive gun cost the Commonwealth more than Alex made in several years. Not even counting the more important factor of the lives depending on his accuracy, a wasted shot would be a _very _costly mistake. The battle was _not_ going well, he saw – Despite looking as if they were quite literally made from junk, the mysterious ships were shrugging off fire that should have put down unshielded dreadnoughts. The PPC vessels had no such comfort – their kinetic barriers were useless against the strange bolts and beams of light the enemy fired, and judging by the damage reports, they might as well have been armoured in plastic. Range and speed were their only shields now, and they were unreliable protections at best.

"Target locked – _FIRE!_" The entire emplacement shook as the gargantuan weapon unleashed its payload. The crew cheered as an enemy cruiser, already wounded by the _Unbowed_, was transfixed by the Thanix shot and disintegrated, silently, into the void.

"Well done, Men! Now get the next shot ready before–"

That was the last sentence the Commander ever said, as a coruscating beam of energy consumed the gun, reducing it and its crew to ashes before they even had time to notice.

_Planet under fire! I repeat, planet under fire! All units concentrate fire on bombarding ships… Oh dear God…"_

It was Paradigm military doctrine to have all general staff officers based planetside, preventing the problem of admirals going down with their ships. The PPC had never fought an action against orbital bombardment before – and as a Zuul destroyer methodically annihilated first the Admiralty, then the Parliament, and then the Shipyards, it seemed that this strategy would need changing.

"Command? Can anyone hear me? Hello?" Zirol tried desperately to find someone – anyone – from the Admiralty. When the destroyer had burnt half of New Manchester, the capital city, to the ground, the defence had fallen into disarray. Half the fleet was out of action, every satellite had expended their missiles to minimal effect – golden beams of almost beautiful light had swatted Citykillers out of existence like flies – and were quickly going down like fish in a barrel. Though short ranged compared to mass accelerators, the energy weapons of the enemy had carved through the once-proud fleet effortlessly. The beam weapon spinal-mounted on the destroyer that had hit the planet (Data hurriedly sent from Onewing identified it as a `Cutting Beam`) had let it and its now-destroyed fellow take down the _Unbowed_, _Unbent_, and _Unbroken_, three cruisers that outweighed them several times over.

In the chaos, only one person remained calm. As the ships psychologist (as well as pretty much every other obscure job on the ship, the PPC being too cheap to hire a proper shrink that wasn't also a trained intelligence officer, communications expert, commando and assassin), Zirol had often remarked on the peculiarities of Coral's personality. It seemed to him that she just had too much attention to spare. This made her frustrated, bored and angry when confronted with simple problems, like logistics or the day to day business of commanding a dreadnought, but deadly efficient when truly at war…

"_I don't know if you can hear me, but this is Admiral Moskvin."_

Zirol blinked in surprise. "Kusanagi here, we are receiving you loud and… crackly, sir."

"_We don't have much time. Fleet Command is wiped out – I'm all that's left. Command is transferred to Acting Admiral Sophia Coral. Reinforcements are on route – just keep our people alive until they come. Defend the – "_

Another beam shot down from the destroyer, and the Admiral fell silent.

Corals calm face contorted into a snarl. "Everything that can move, regroup on my position. Not one more shot hits our goddamn planet! Oh, and all forces – Kill. That. Ship."

Despite himself, Firstborn Iodex Kraal felt a certain respect for the human defenders (not considering Turians, Asari, Salarians and Drell, for they were beneath his attention), doomed though they were. They had fought well – he had lost two cruisers and four destroyers, around half his force. Despite every defeat, every world enslaved, every shred of evidence to show them that rebellion against their betters equalled extinction, humans would not submit. He still bore scars from his battles against Solforce. The humans here would be troublesome, even equipped with pathetic, ancient weapons.

But, resist though they might, they would fall. For they were mortals, doomed to die after so many years, while the Great Masters were eternal, Gods. And what mortal can contend with a god?

_Veo_ _Sagat_, the destroyer that had crippled the enemy Command and Control, buckled as a shot from the human dreadnought hit it squarely on the broadside. After a few seconds, the ship slowly broke up. A pyrrhic victory, however – it was close enough that debris would rain down upon Paradigm, adding to the chaos. Nonetheless, this showed that what was left of the PPC fleet had regrouped, and, outnumbered though they were, might yet be a threat. Conventional doctrine gave authority to the captain with the biggest ship…

"Zuul, put all ordinance into the dreadnought. Rip the _Kusanagi _apart! _Baos Samat_!

A chorus of voices answered, in perfect unison: "_Tveu Tam!_"

A sudden urgency, beyond that he had shown even as the defence fell apart around them, entered Zirol's voice. "Captain, enemy are focusing on us! We won't – ah shit, kinetic barriers at 40%! Not that that will actually matter if they get up close!"

"I had noticed." Coral had to keep up the façade of calm. If the fleets resolution wavered, even for a moment, all would be lost. "_Kusanagi_, _Horatius_,_ Cromwell_,_ Lionheart_;Hold position. _Concordant_, _Rodger Young_; move to intercept that cruiser." No matter what the Zuul brought to bear upon the _Kusanagi_, they could not afford to move – They were the only thing between the Zuul and Paradigm, and they could not let the world fall.

_Come on, Onewing…_

The ship rocked suddenly, like a fishing boat in a typhoon. A wave of force smashed Coral, who unfortunately had been standing at the time, against the wall. Senses dulled by the impact, she could barely make Zirol's frantic, guttural shouting on the edge of hearing;

"… broken through! Engines out of…"

Strangely calm, she watched the map as the Zuul ship came ever closer. Staggering to her feet, she looked on impassively, amongst the screaming and the flames, as her death approached… It would enter range in 5…

_No… We can't die here, not now, not yet…_

4…

_It wasn't fair… They came out of nowhere… How could you fight an enemy like that… _

3…

_For us to be killed now, after all we've accomplished… for no reason…_

2…

_We never even knew who they were, what they wanted, why they attacked…_

1…

_And now we die, without even an answer…_

"_Soldiers of the Paradigm, the cavalry has arrived!_"

… And then an angel (or a sufficiently well-preened Crow) appeared. The cutting beam scythed out of the Zuul cruiser, but instead of slicing the _Kusanagi_ into ruin, it glanced off the flank of the biggest ship Acting Admiral Sophia Coral had ever seen, thrice the size of a dreadnought, dwarfing even Sovereign. Shaped like a massive, bluish metal arrow, it was sleek and beautiful compared to the utilitarian lines of human vessels and the brutish Zuul ships. Missiles, beams of blue-white light, and shells of every description rained down upon the Zuul, even as smaller examples of these graceful, deadly vessels flared into existence with a series of green flashes. Mounted spinally on the huge ship was a gun that could have swallowed the _Kusanagi_, that slowly but surely turned towards the Zuul dreadnought, which looked significantly less fearsome as the fleet it had once lead was reduced, almost casually, to slag.

As he sat upon the bridge of the Silver Throne leviathan _Deus Vult_, looking for all the world like he was leading a parade instead of the most powerful fleet ever seen in this backward galaxy, it occurred to Ogodei Onewing (whose sobriquet was misleading – he had two wings, though one of them _was_ a skeletal prosthetic) that it was somewhat ironic that the gun the Zuul would be destroyed by was called the `Demise of Worlds` Antimatter Stream Weapon. It was otherwise appropriately named – had the _Deus_ _Vult _turned about 180 degrees, it could have sterilised Paradigm in a single shot, though that would not be the best way to open diplomatic relations. Using the weapon was not strictly necessary, given the thousands of smaller guns the strike force had, but this would be a very effective show of force. Besides, where was the fun in having the biggest gun in the galaxy if you didn't partake in a little overkill?

The remnant of the PPC fleet watched in awe as the beam of blinding azure antimatter consumed the dreadnought utterly, erasing it from existence. After ten seconds of stunned silence, a ragged cheer rose from the beleaguered soldiers, which quickly became a deafening raw as every soul on the ships, and the world below, thanked their saviours, little knowing that for the Paradigm Protectorate Commonwealth, as well as for every free sentient being in the galaxy, the war for survival had only just begun.

* * *

><p>Had he been humanoid, at this point the Deceiver of Fools would have grinned. To the casual (and inferior) observer, things had not gone his way – the world of Paradigm being, if a little crispy, not being the `charred husk` pronounced by the late Firstborn Iodex Kraal. But Paradigm was merely one world – and his <em>true<em> objective had been completed. The damnable Crows had revealed themselves, and their not inconsiderable power, to a galaxy that would hardly welcome them with open arms. Even with the various advantages his forces held, and even with the backward technology of this galaxy, he would be hard pressed to triumph against the lesser races united. The First Winter War had proved the futility of _that_. But, to quote that amusing human religion: `_No house divided against itself will stand_`. Before his somewhat ignominious ejection, the Second Winter War had been quickly proving _that_.

And speaking of houses, he had a slight… advantage in that respect. Another all-too-true (except when, occasionally, it most emphatically _wasn't_) human aphorism was that `The House always Wins`. And despite only having been in this `House` for a century longer than the Crows (time flow between dimensions being a _little_ screwy), he had owned it for aeons. He had influenced this plane with his two greatest failures – but now, they would forge his greatest success. His lost servants had made this galaxy into one unimaginably huge farm. And now he had found them once again, it was time for the Lord of Winter to reap his harvest.

* * *

><p>It is common knowledge that there is a special relationship between politicians and the media. As he flicked on the screen, Councillor David Anderson wondered (not for the first time) why this `special relationship` (in better cases, at least) did not involve bullets.<p>

"_Welcome to Citadel Newsnet. I'm Emily Wong._

_It's been three weeks since the Silver Federation's shocking appearance on the galactic stage, but the Citadel governments are still scrambling for a coordinated response…_"

_Of course we are, you stupid bitch_, Anderson thought, staring blankly through whiskey. _The sudden appearance of dragons and lizards with impossible technology can do that to people. _ Life had not been kind to the councillor. His efforts to prepare the galaxy for the Reaper threat had met with dismal failure. For him, hope had all but died two years ago with the SSV _Normandy_.

"_The official image is one of amiable cooperation, but this video leaked by a source close to the council seems to show a different story…"_

* * *

><p>Virtually every fool in the galaxy believed that soldiers should stay out of politics. Xhar'Dai the Blessed, who had been a soldier for two hundred years and a politician for twenty, knew in his battle-scarred soul that this was idiocy. Soldiers might try to stay away from politics, but politics would not stay away from them in return. Whatever Xhar'Dai did, he knew that the great game would be played, and his men's lives would be among the stakes. Better for him to play than to let some other fool gamble them away.<p>

So, it was with resignation, not fear, that he prepared to speak with what passed in this galaxy for a representative body –Two mayflies, led by an ancient, speaking for a trillion people. He didn't even count Anderson, who was merely a powerless figurehead, whose only purpose was to placate the Alliance. It was a source of humour for the political elite that, after two years, they hadn't even put up a console in the audience chamber for Anderson – that was how unimportant the poor ex-Admiral was.

Valern was the first mayfly. Intelligent though he was – like many high ranking Salarians, he had spent time in the Special Tasks Group, an intelligence group noted for effectiveness, subtlety, and committing slow genocide – he (and Sparatus, to a lesser extent) were rendered inconsequential by the horrible, unfair mathematics of lifespan. A Council position was for life – but that could mean many different things. A Salarian lived for about 40 years, a Turian or Human, about 100. Asari often broke 1000, and that meant that Tevos had been running the show. This problem was why the Silver Throne _Morru'Quann_ , regardless of species, had a twenty-year Turian councillors had a _slightly_ better chance – but this was assuming they weren't fools, which they generally were. The Hierarchy had noticed the numbers, but were powerless to change it, so the Primarch trod around the council, while their man on the damn thing was normally whichever high ranker they had who had lost a major conflict recently. Sparatus was the product of the `kicked upstairs` policy.

Which, conveniently enough, left Tevos running the galaxy. It was testament to both Tevos' skill and experience, and to the blindness of life at large, that she remained the most popular politician in Citadel Space. If you looked back through her 500 year record, however one distinct pattern emerged, a pattern shared by most that entered the great game. Self bloody interest. Over the centuries more and more power had been given to the Council – thanks to having virtually no actual elected officials, the only Asari group that could hinder them in peacetime were the Matriarchs – and thus to the oldest member with the best poker smile.

Xhar knew that he was seeing this through Jade-tinted eyes. Hell, by any sane standard, he was a worse war criminal than Tevos ever could be. He'd been at the forefront of countless battles, reduced thousands of ships to slag, killed billions of helpless living creatures as he mercilessly pounded a hundred worlds from orbit. He'd even killed a sun once. But that had been a different galaxy, one defined by war, death, domination and rebellion. A galaxy where weakness was, is, and would ever be extinction. A galaxy that, Xhar'Dai was forced to admit, he was glad to have left.

_Do not focus on that past. Billions of lives rely on you – pay attention to them now_.

Another day, another trial. Thus was the life of the _Morru'Quann._

Councillor Tevos was rarely surprised. In fact, until humanity appeared on the galactic stage twenty-eight years ago, she hadn't been surprised once in three hundred years. That happy equilibrium seemed to be coming to a close, however. Unsurprisingly, humans and their wars were having something to do with it. Somehow, with two incredibly strange new races, were merely somewhat strange humans. The Tarka and Morrigi, for all their strange appearances and… _bizarre_ sexual dimorphism, shared one ever so aggravating trait with humans (and, admittedly, to a lesser extent, the asari). The goddess-damned emotional streak – all too often placing feelings, or honour, or their own precepts of morality above reason. It was thus somewhat ironic that the first Morrigi she met had been deadened inside by the horrors of war.

Xhar'Dai was a sleek, serpentine creature, befitting a politician. The length of his body was around three meters from nose to tail – he would have towered over even krogan if he stood up straight, but, being so thin and snakelike, Morrigi bodies were curled, giving him an almost centaur-like profile. He had eight limbs spread around his body – two legs; four arms (though Morrigi seemed to often use their lower arms to help them walk); and of course, the magnificent wings, which (surprisingly in a race that, according to their history, had lived among the stars for thousands of years) were fully capable of flight. His entire body was covered in crimson feathered scales, with ostentatious plumage on his neck. His head was even more avian than that of a Turian – there was a reason they had taken to being called `crows`. Crowning all that was the dazzling, yet apparently functional silver armour. It was heavily ornate and engraved, but just like their graceful ships, Morrigi equipment deliberately looked beautiful, fragile, and ceremonial. Right up to when beams of antimatter started flying.

Halfway between a lizard and a bird – the word that formed in Tevos' mind was not _crow_, but _dragon_.

The first meeting was not taking place in the council audience chambers – the situation was too politically sensitive to be open to the public. Instead, the leaders of the powers old and new met upon the recently repaired _Destiny Ascension_. This was less a show of power on the Council's part than it might have otherwise seemed – in what was almost certainly a studied insult, the _Morru'Quann_ had arrived in his personal flagship, the _Executioner's Mercy_. Of a size referred to (accurately) by the Silver Throne as a `Leviathan`, it was three times the size of the Council Dreadnought. This new Federation seemed worryingly keen on flaunting its firepower. The arrival of a gargantuan alien warship near the Citadel, which had had less than a pleasant experience with the_ previous_ holder of the `biggest mysterious vessel with unknown and terrifying weapons award`, had not _exactly_ gone without comment.

"Councillors." Xhar'Dai's voice sounded superficially like that of a high-pitched Turian, but had a curiously reverberating quality to it, almost as if they were hearing him via a comlink. "It is an honour to meet the premier representatives of civilisation in this galaxy." With the very foreign body language and tones, Tevos wasn't sure whether that was an honest compliment or a sarcastic jab.

"The honour is ours, _Morru'Quann_. It is a rare pleasure indeed to welcome not one, but two new races to the galactic community, especially ones so advanced as those of your nation. As such, we would like to formally offer-

"_Krag'vet_. Kind though I'm sure this invitation is, we have more important matters to discuss. We forwarded the report on the Battle of Paradigm to you, but I couldn't send some of the more important details to you by QEC. The void hears. I can only now tell you the real extent of the threat.

Sufficed to say, the enemies little speech, crude and unoriginal though it was, was no bluff. Nor was it a great exaggeration. First though, I feel I owe you an explanation. You've heard the rumours about us, I take it?"

"That you came from another dimension?" Valern's voice, like his hooded face, was carefully unreadable. "You don't expect us to believe _that_, do you?"

"You are required to do nothing, least of all _believe_. Shut one's eyes tight, or opens one's eyes wide – either way, one's a fool!" The Morrigi made a noise which might have been laughter, seemingly at a joke no one else could see. "Always wanted to say that sometime. But whether you accept that truth is irrelevant. It remains the only truth, unlikely though it is. I'd ask that you take a little on faith, but that would be utterly hypocritical, and, judging by _your_ track record, utterly pointless."

Tevos' brow furrowed. "What is your point?"

"My point is that the enemy, while it had shown you another side of itself, is not new to you. It's another truth that refused to take, aha, `on faith`. You've faced them before, and they've been here longer than me, or you, or even that giant mousetrap of a station. They are –"

Sparatus sneered. "Ah yes," he said in a voice of total contempt, making an air-quotes sign with his fingers. "`_Reapers`_. The immortal race of sentient starships allegedly waiting in dark space. _We have dismissed that claim_."

Xhar'Dai answered Sparatus' contempt in kind, with a look that said, even to people inexperienced in Morrigi expressions "_Holy shit, you're the greatest idiot I have ever met._"

"Look out of the window, Sparatus." The Crow answered, his voice turning into a snarl. "You see a ship larger than any you have ever seen, driven by technologies that violate the laws of physics as you know them, armed with weapons you have long deemed impossible. Crewed by two species you have never seen and – _more importantly_ – by one you have. Captained by a dragon who could…"

There was a flash of blinding light. When Tevos' eyes opened, she saw a deity she knew but had never believed in before her.

"… **COME TO YOU AS ANGELS!**"

"_Goddess!"_ Tevos exclaimed, involuntarily but appropriately.

"No, just an old Crow who remembers his days as a trader." The image of Athame, if it had ever been there, had gone.

"And as such, as something that was, for you, until a week ago confined to Science Fiction and the testimony of your saviour, I stand before you. There is just as much evidence that you face this enemy than there is for me. Do you _dismiss_ me, Sparatus?"

Anger seemingly spent, the Morrigi breathed out and turned away, seemingly addressing the twin facades of the Citadel and his flagship out of the window into space.

"You were about to invite me, Tevos, to join your Council. You were probably even going to be generous and offer the Silver Throne a seat immediately." He laughed again, a bitter sound. "Fools. You exist to defend the poor bastards under your rule, but you have always failed. When the Rachni came, the Council was powerless against them, and turned to the Krogan. When they became too troublesome, the Council was powerless against them, and you turned to the Genophage. When Sovereign came, the Council was powerless against them, and you turned to humanity."

"A new enemy is coming. His names are many – Deceiver of Fools, Lord of Winter, Suul'ka. He leads a force beyond any you have ever seen. You didn't listen to poor, deceased Commander Shepard. Listen to _Me_. Sovereign, and that pathetic little group at Paradigm, were mere scouts. Soon the true might of the Lord of Winter shall be arrayed against us, and if you do not prepare for that threat, you will have no one to turn to. My Federation will not come to your aid, not while we ourselves are threatened, not if you have ignored our warnings. The enemy is at your doorstep, and right now you are powerless, so now, turn to _Me_ while you have a chance!"

"What proof do you have, beyond a – clearly insane – rant, that these _Zuul_, or _Suul'ka_, or _Reapers_, seek to harm us?" Tevos responded with uncharacteristic anger – this goddess-damned avian, powerful though he might be, was the most irritating individual she had dealt with since Shepard. "The only places that we can confirm as attacked are outside Council Space – By the pattern of the abductions in the Terminus, deliberately chosen for that fact. If these enemies are as powerful and hostile as you claim – and judging by the reports from Paradigm, that at least is true – surely they could have just marched against us, and swept us aside?"

As Tevos' temper rose, all emotion seemed to drain out of the Morrigi – anger, bitterness, contempt all deserted him, as he returned to the blank, deadened visage that seemed to define the _Morru'Quann_, and the voice he spoke in now sounded more appropriate for a machine than a master.

"A fair point, Tevos. Yes, all too fair a point. But as we bicker, the enemy readies his might, and if we don't stop we could probably continue this till your Goddess pops into existence and declares Judgement Day to shut us up. The Deceiver of Fools bears that moniker for a reason."

"I know that you are unable act on faith, so it falls to me to do so. I am sending information to all your governments. Dossiers on the enemy; their abilities, strengths, weaknesses. Schematics – I won't give you parity with our ships, but I'll give you enough to stand a chance. I give you the knowledge to fight the enemy, to _win_, because, despite all evidence, I believe in you. Make no mistake, I despise you – especially you, Sparatus – but I'll tell you the most important thing I've learnt from three wars against the darkness, and that's that we must use every weapon and make every ally we can if we are to survive the Coming Winter. I've stood beside pirates, slavers, tyrants – even went and allied with the _Zorn_ psychic dolphins. Because in the end, even if we make distinctions, the Suul'ka won't."

As he left, he turned his head one last time to the Council and said, almost pleadingly: "Please. Give me just one thing, whether you believe me or not: Prepare for war, because Winter Is Coming."

* * *

><p>"<em>In other news, fears of a plague on Omega have been quelled as…"<em> Anderson shut the screen off and turned back to his whiskey. Yeah, it had been an interesting few weeks, all right. During _that_ meeting, he hadn't said a word. If any of his fellow councillors had been surprised, they hadn't shown it – he was, after all, No-Chair Anderson. But the real reason he hadn't spoken is because his words had already been said. Xhar'Dai the Blessed seemed to regard the Alliance as the only council state with any potential, which is why he had spoken to their representative privately.

The galaxy was going to be dragged into a war with the enemy a lot sooner than it had wanted. Chance had forced everyone's hands – but it might also have handed organic life an ace.

Or rather, another ace. Anderson's hope had died with the _Normandy_ and her Commander…

"And he cried in a loud voice: _`Lazarus, come forth! `"_ The voice echoed around the room. "And Lazarus did arise from the grave."

… And had been resurrected with them. Still barely able to believe what he was hearing, Councillor David Anderson carefully lowered the whiskey, rose, faced the revenant and spake thusly:

"You took your time, Shepard."

The Spectre shrugged nonchalantly. "Being dead _really_ takes it out of you."

His eyes widened. "So it's really true then. They actually brought you back…"

Another figure emerged from the shadows, despite being a full head taller than the two humans.

"_Oh_, you have not haven't the half of it, Councillor…" The figure turned to Shepard. "Do you want to tell him or shall I?"

"Vakarian. I notice you've been having some fun," Anderson responded coolly, noting the rending scar on the Turian's face. "… _Archangel_."

Garrus Vakarian eyed Anderson blankly for a moment, then laughed. "I see there's no one in the galaxy who hasn't found out my secret identity." His face suddenly hardened. "Tell him, Commander."

Shepard sighed. "So as my friend was saying _before distracting us from saving the galaxy_, bringing me back from the dead isn't the only interesting thing about Cerberus…

* * *

><p>It's normal for the throne room of your common or garden dark messiah to be impressive, opulent, majestic. There should be statues, monuments, priceless works of art, grand thrones, the occasional artefact of doom. Not so here. The room contained no grand furniture – only empty space. The floor lacked the requisite impressive mosaic or mural, as the customer prefers – it seemed to be merely black glass. The <em>Mona Lisa<em> was conspicuous in its absence from the wall – As, in fact, was the wall, as only a pane of glass appeared to separate this place from infinity. There was only one object of interest in the room, and that was the view _through_ the pane of glass, upon a brilliant blue and red star.

Oh, and the chair. Unfortunately, it flunked the evil overlord throne test with flying colours – instead of the baroque monstrosity of tradition, or the swishy swivelling seat favoured by the more up-to-date villain, it would not really have looked out of place on the presidium. Commander Shepard, ever a traditionalist when it came to dark chic, disapproved.

Its occupant, however, was a more impressive figure. One could point out many features of the classic dark visionary – the bespoke (and gunfire-resistant) suit, the charming smooth face (modelled by the finest techniques money could buy in the image of an ancient actor) – he'd even got the slouch of villainy down pat. But the real eye-catcher was, well his eyes. The cybernetic blue disks that replaced his irises gave no clue to his emotions, and made `humanity's defender` look positively transhuman…

_Pay attention! Damn it, why am I always doing this?_ The Spectre had always had a tendency towards whimsicality and capriciousness. A side effect of the Lazarus Project seemed to be that this had become more severe. Shepard fervently hoped that this would not be permanent.

"Shepard. Good work on Horizon. Hopefully the Collectors will think twice about attacking another colony."

Shepard's mouth twisted into a frown as the answer came. "It's _not_ a victory. We interrupted the Collectors, but they still abducted half the colony.

The Illusive Man's smug stepford grin betrayed no emotion. "That's better than an _entire_ colony, and more than we've accomplished since the abductions began. The Collectors will be more careful now, but I think we can find a way to lure them in."

A cynical thought suddenly entered the Commander's equally cynical mind. "Ash said the Alliance got a tip about me and Cerberus. Was that you?"

"I may have let it slip that you were alive. Andwith Cerberus."

The Spectre snarled. "You risked the lives of my friend, my crew, and _that entire colony_? Just to lure the Collectors there?"

Still no emotion. "A calculated risk. I suspected the Collectors were looking for you, or people connected to you. Now I know for certain. I told you I wouldn't sit and wait while the Reapers and Collectors gather strength."

"_You're missing out a few details, Illusive."_ A new voice, off to Shepard's right. It wasn't human, or Asari, Turian, Salarian, Elcor, Volus, Krogan, Vorcha, Drell, Hanar, or even Prothean, Rachni or Reaper. Which narrowed it down to one of three possibilities, and given the nasal, refined, yet gravelly quality to it, the Spectre could guess which one. Despite being millions of miles away from The Illusive Man, Shepard instinctively reached for a weapon – but only for a moment.

"A Tarka? Mordin was right – you certainly are branching out, Timmy." Shepard felt some small satisfaction as the look of annoyance passed over the otherwise all but unbreakable façade – he had not been pleased when he found out that Shepard had worked out what The Illusive Man stood for.

"I try to keep abreast of current events. And our friends in the Federation are the only power to officially believe in Reapers."

"We're just nice like that." Another hologram appeared, and it was indeed one of the lizard-like Tarka. Though Shepard's experience with the tarks was limited to dossiers, the voice and body shape marked it as a female of the species. "Commander Shepard. I am _Karez Zo'Quann_ Kala Orr, Silver Throne 1st Fleet. I'm your Liaison Officer."

"I have a Liaison Officer?" Shepard asked, bemused. "Timmy, why do I have a Liaison Officer?" According to official records, Commander Shepard was still KIA. As Cerberus also didn't officially exist, Kala Orr didn't technically have anything to liaise _to_. And why was Illusive trusting a mysterious and deadly new power, that had appeared with suspiciously convenient timing and wielded weapons the likes of which the Galaxy had never seen?

In short, Shepard smelled a rat.

"As much as you may suspect us, Commander, our interests are the same. Soon, the Galaxy will have to face up to the truth of the Suul'ka threat – that legion upon legion of Zuul and Reapers prepare to enslave us all. But then, no one will care about Collectors, and they will continue to hunt. More colonies will disappear. More will die. The Silver Throne Federation defends those who cannot defend themselves, but we can't protect every planet in the Terminus and wage war against the Deceiver. And if our planets fall, so will we, and so will the Galaxy. We all need the Collectors dead and buried, Shepard, and we need you to do it."

"Is there no one in this galaxy who can sort out their own problems? Why is it that the fate of the entirety of civilisation seems to rest squarely on my ship and my crew?"

After a short silence, Kala answered, somewhat taken aback. "Uh… Yeah. That's pretty much it." Shepard saw now that she was no trained diplomat – her façade of infallibility, that common and incredibly annoying aspect of politicians from Thessia to Omega, was clearly fallen. And most (non-Krogan) diplomats didn't have _that_ many scars. No, if Xhar'Dai the blessed (or whoever) had wanted to trick Cerberus, this was not who they would have sent. That, or Kala Orr was very, very good indeed.

"Ah, fuck it, _Kaan'Ish_. We all have our jobs to do, Shepard. We will fight the Zuul, and you will bloody well fight the Collectors. You, and the ridiculously expensive antimatter weapons we're shipping you."

However, it seemed that Kala knew how to appeal to the psychology of the individual. Shepard's face lit up.

"Antimatter weapons?"

* * *

><p>"The Federation is working with Cerberus?" The frown that almost always graced Andersons face deepened. "That could mean trouble, Shepard. The Alliance has been a little… friendlier with Xhar'Dai than the other Council powers. If that comes out and links us <em>more<em> to the Illusive Man… I won't lie to you, Commander. There are a lot of people who aren't happy to see you back, especially since you're with Cerberus."

Anger flashed in the Commander's eyes. "I. Am. _Not_. Part. Of. Cerberus."

"I know. But do you really think Tevos and Sparatus see it that way?"

"Ah, to hell with it. I'm starting to wish I'd stayed dead – far less trouble. Hey, Councillor – You haven't opened that whisky yet…"

"No, I'd been saving it for a special occasion." He smiled – first time in two years. He picked up the glass.

Cassandra Shepard, Hero of the Skyllian Blitz, Saviour of the Citadel and Paragon of Humanity had returned from the dead. The Lord of Winter was about to have something of a problem.

"Welcome Back, Commander."

* * *

><p>Cerberus Internal Communications<p>

To: [ALPHA-1 CLEARANCE REQUIRED]

From: [REDACTED]  
>Re: Silver Throne FederationAnalysis/Member Species

Per your request, we have begun intelligence gathering on all newcomer groups, particularly the Federation (data collection on the Zuul and Suul'ka is akin to chasing ghosts). Operation in Throne space has also proved difficult, as the core Throne worlds are not connected to the Relay Network and all travel to them is as yet limited to (closely monitored) Morrigi vessels. However, our already substantial cell on [REDACTED] has made significant progress.

As you are aware, there are three member species of the federation: Morrigi, Tarka and Human. However, sources indicate that they are familiar with further races (but apparently, none of these races were part of the fleet that was thrown into our reality, assuming the official explanation of Newcomer presence). Aside from the Zuul, the two most notable races mentioned are the Hiver and the Liir. Hiver are apparently an insectoid species superficially similar to Rachni, but far closer to humanity. While seemingly respected by the Silver Throne, it appears that there existed bad blood between the Hiver and humanity. However, given their (assumed) nonexistence of our universe, they remain unimportant to the current situation. The Liir, an aquatic and heavily psionic race (referred to by the _Morru'Quann_ as the `Zorn _Psychic Dolphins_`, were apparently greatly disliked by the Throne. There appears to be a relation between the Liir and the Suul'ka that is likely to be the source of this hatred. As with the Hiver, however, Liir appear to be nonexistent here.

While they only comprise around 26% of the core population (excluding the PPC and other clientele planets), the Morrigi are the founding and most important race of the Silver Throne. In fact, the Federation is often collectively referred to as `the Morrigi` or `Crows` (a somewhat disparaging nickname for the species, similar to `bird` or `krog` for Turians and Krogan). A slim majority of major figures in the STF are Morrigi, most notably Xhar'Dai the Blessed (current _Morru'Quann_ – translates as `First among Travelers` and is the title given to the Morrigi Head of State –, Admiral of the 1st Fleet and commander of the _Executioner's Mercy_) and Ogodei Onewing (Admiral of the 6th Fleet and commander of the _Deus Vult_ who won the Battle of Paradigm). Morrigi display a bizarre mixture of mammal, reptile and avian traits, leading to comparisons with dragons (especially concerning Morrigi females). Male Morrigi also display a startling similarity to the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl (the `Feathered Serpent`). It is actually theorised that Morrigi may have actually _inspired_ these myths in their own universe – given the apparent age of Morrigi civilisation, not an impossible claim. It is also surprising how many species have parallels of dragons in their mythologies. Morrigi are also heavily psionically active, outstripping all known species (though sources suggest that they are as insects compared to the Suul'ka in this field). Male Morrigi have an ability known as the 'Glamour' that makes them appear to the onlooker as a vision of grace and beauty. This is especially effective against females, who see the Morrigi as an incredibly attractive male, often with mystical and otherworldly attributes. Among the most psionically competent Morrigi, this can make them literally match Xhar'Dai's claim of appearing `as angels`. Morrigi display a surprising degree of Sexual dimorphism, with females being far bigger and more reptilian than the males, and usually remain planetbound – all known Morrigi naval personnel are male.

The Tarka are to be considered the least important of the Silver Throne species. They make up 31% of the core population. While they do have many similarities to terrestrial lizards, they do not internally resemble reptiles to a great degree – they are, in fact, warm-blooded. The primary Tarka power in the other universe seems to have been the `Tarkasian Imperium`, which seems to have been on good terms with the Silver Throne.

The majority of Tarka males are not fertile. The few (less than 1%) that are undergo a second stage of maturity called `the change` triggered by eating an unfertilised Tarka egg. A changed male is physiologically and psychologically very different from the unchanged males – while normal male and female Tarka have a quite lithe and generally humanoid shape, changed males in fact resemble giant apes in stature – at first contact, they were in fact misidentified as a separate species. Changed males also become much more aggressive, emotional and extroverted. For this and other reasons, almost all high ranking Tarka officers are female – most males, changed or unchanged, are just too irrational for the job. Tarka are the least psionically active of all Newcomers – unlike Morrigi and Zuul, there seems to be no such thing as a `natural` Tarka psychic.

Finally, we have a species we are almost entirely familiar with – our own. Humans make up 43% of the core population of the STF. In most ways, the Newcomer humans seem to be the same as we locals, save two aspects. Like all Newcomers, they are entirely unfamiliar with Mass Effect physics and Element Zero and thus completely lack biotics. Even on planets lacking eezo deposits, such as Earth, there are still tiny trace amounts of eezo, be it fewer than one atom in a trillion. The traces on Newcomer humans, based on observation (acquiring specimens for autopsy has proved problematic) is universally around twenty years old and less than one thousandth of that found in an average ant on Earth. However, all Newcomers have far more developed psionic capabilities and humans are no exception. While natural human psychic manifestation seems to be vanishingly rare, certain trained and augmented individuals have displayed telekinetic and telepathic abilities easily outstripping even those of a Rachni queen (see record [REDACTED]). It is theorised that the development of psionic ability and biotic ability are somewhat naturally mutually exclusive – note that the only species previously identified as psionic (Rachni, Drell, [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]) have limited biotic ability.

One interesting fact to note is that the human religions we are familiar with seem to be the dominant faiths in the STF. Tarka and Morrigi do not seem to be naturally particularly zealous creatures, but our faiths seem to appeal to them. Being thrown into a universe where humanity is one of the few constants seems to have further increased the popularity of human faith.

Please note that most of this information is based on limited observation and sources loyal to the Silver Throne Federation, and thus may well prove to be unreliable. As the Newcomers become a more established presence, we should be able to verify all data ourselves.

Yours, [REDACTED]

* * *

><p>Author Note: As the actress said to the bishop, crikey, that was a long one. Almost 8000 words in that chapter, and (thanks to my ever-interfering education) it took me several months, sorry. As we're coming up on the summer holidays, I'll hopefully be able to get the next chapter out quicker. I would recommend to any readers unfamiliar with SOTS or ME to check out their respective wiki's at .net and . I'll try to explain lore information with fictional documents at the end of each chapter, but there is a lot of lore to be explaining - especially for SOTS, and conveniently that is the game I'm betting on fewer of you wonderful readers being familiar with.<p>

A quick note on ME3. As you've probably noticed, the story is currently around the start of ME2. I vaguely sketched out the plot for this before ME3 came out, and some things ended up contradicting what eventually happened. So I may screw around with canon – but most of the problems concern the ending of ME3, which, and let me make this perfectly clear, _never happened_. So that may not be such a huge problem after all. 'Tis an ill wind as such. Thank you and keep reading!


End file.
